They raised a very interesting concept in my Group Dynamic’s class. We’re looking at the psychology behind groups, but given the teacher is a practicing psychoanalyst, it’s kind of like going to therapy, too.

Which in a way, is a good thing, because if you don’t have your emotional shit under control by the time you go into your private practice, you likely won’t be very good at what you do.

We looked at a concept called ‘Hung-over Groups’ (the term is literally translated, so I have no idea what it really is in English).

We previously looked at ‘Point of Reference Groups’— the first groups you’re a part of (familiar, school, friends, etc.) which set a given standard. Anything else you might live through, you’ll compare to those groups, and seek in them a point of reference as to how to behave or interact, etc.

Hung-over groups perfectly describe the ‘End of an Era’ feeling, I’m so familiar with. That nostalgia one feels over ‘The Good Old Days’. It happens constantly as dynamics change and relationships end, leaving a sort of ‘loose ends’ feeling.

Any new group you might join, you’ll compare, see it doesn’t meet the expectations from the last, and mourn the loss of it.

That is very dangerous stuff, because it means there’s something unresolved, the person needs to come to terms with.

More often than not, they’ll continue to attempt recreate said interactions, and find it’s simply something that can’t cross over. It also affects the way they get along with other groups, and their ability to function in them.

I see it constantly with the voices. It’s that arcadia feeling in Brideshead, or the year Richard spent with the Greek class that one year, before everything went to hell with Bunny.

I sometimes see it in myself. I have those ‘Oh, I miss how things used to be’ moments. I recall how comfortable I was in those dynamics, how happy I was. Especially with the RP group we held for six years. That’s a big chunk of my life. People came and went, it went through changes, went through splits, but it was always the common denominator for all of as and the voices.

It kept me grounded.

Then friendships ended, life got in the way, fights and ostracizing took place, and I simply said ‘If losing that part of my life means I can take the reigns and start living— then yeah, it’s worth abandoning the one constant thing in my life that’s made me so indescribably happy’

I’ll gladly make that trade.

I cashed in, took a leap into the unknown, at the heartbreaking expense of every anchor I ever had, and continue to explore uncharted land.

The change in terms of frame of mind was crucial, and in a way, what made it less intimidating. Or rather, made it almost appealing in a way, vaguely thrilling— I’m looking at the abyss, and the abyss is looking right back at me. There’s no avoiding it. There’s nothing to keep me grounded, nothing to keep me anchored, just this sense of wonder and immense possibility as I drift about the unexplored—the unfamiliar.

Jules had a lot to do with making that leap, and I love her for forcing me to do it.

I finally solved that Henry Winter complex of living too much in the mind— finally seeing things in Technicolor.

Nostalgia is a traitorous fellow. Terribly biased in the way it romanticizes and embellishes the strength of every pleasant memory, yet conveniently paints over failings and imperfections.

Every time I cave into that nostalgia, and I’m ready to go crawling back to the comfort and familiarity of those old groups, something always reminds me— everyone’s going to hurt you at some point or another, whether they mean to do it or not, so you might as well be clever about it and choose carefully.

I have, and I did. The hurt was worth those pleasant times and those memories I’m so fond of. It was worth its price at the time, and I paid it gladly. That is no longer the case, no matter how great the possibility of falling into the comfort of familiarity.

I didn’t choose the things I did for everything to look ‘a certain way’. A very large part of my orientation is based on that basic premise, so spoiling myself by yielding to the reassurance of predictability is simply setting myself up for disappointment in the future.

And so I’ll continue to use old dynamics as point of reference, continue to carry along the concept of hung-over groups in the form and of mild nostalgia (resolved, accepted nostalgia, at that), but never let it cross over into any of my current or future interactions.

The charm of the past, is that it’s the past.